At this time next week, Red Reporters the world over will be rising from foggy slumber and synchronously plunking alka-seltzers into coffee mugs of tepid water drawn from the bathroom sink. We will be hazy from our having drunk deeply from the cup of baseball the day previous after months of abstention. It’s gonna fucking rule.
Real actual live baseball is under a week away, which means weeks of fake not-actual kind-of baseball are behind us. Spring Training is riven with a certain kind of tension: it isn’t exactly baseball, so it doesn’t quite pay off. But it is kind of baseball, so I can’t look away.